


Wishing only wounds the heart

by diggingthegrave



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: F/M, Hansla, Iceburns, helsa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 16:35:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2316230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diggingthegrave/pseuds/diggingthegrave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I just had the need to get it out of my mind. </p><p>A little smut; a little angst - everything I live for in regards to Elsa & Hans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wishing only wounds the heart

Like a dream she can’t precisely point out when it started.

 

She honestly doesn’t remember when or why or how he came back into her life or when or why or how they began to give in to their desire. She didn’t even know she needed him that much until the day their lips met for the first time. It did not take that much for just kissing to be enough. Not long after they were nothing but a tangled sweaty heavy-breathing mess of limbs; and then again and again every single opportunity they found.

 

The life she led before was only a blur now.

 

He may be experienced (something she quickly dismiss when it comes playing tricks in her mind, she doesn’t really want to delve into that matter; it’s not that important for her to know anyway), but she’s a fast learner. She already knows when he wants it rough – his gritted teeth, his half-lidded eyes, his chest heaving, his hands groping her ass hard, his lips demanding every inch of her skin – and that’s okay, she can deal with that most of the time, but there are moments when she wants it slow, wants to feel her fire inside ignite notch by notch so she grips him and squeezes – _hard_ – then he growls, eyes closed and brow furrowed but decelerates nevertheless.

 

It’s the cue for her to set the pace: long luscious kisses; lazy strokes of hands over arms, shoulders, neck, chest, waist and stomach until his get to her thighs and _clutch_. Immediately that all-familiar tingle starts to pool low in her belly and she knows she’s as ready as will ever be. He seems to get the clue so he spreads her legs wider, catches her lips with his own and lightly bites. Then he’s _inside_.

 

There’s nothing in the world like that. The feeling of coming home.

 

Was that what it was meant to be all the while? Or maybe this rush, this overflowing joy is the product of something that even though they know is most surely unachievable ultimately doesn’t make a difference, because for all they care the only thing of importance is one another.

 

Of course that’s not true – cannot ever be true. They can’t change whatever happened. The consequences of their choices and their destinies should never be outlooked. Their lives were never supposed to be easy.

 

Fortunately (or not) they are both too proud to admit it out loud.

 

But when in the afterglow, while they are lying on the covers, her head rested on his chest or in the crook of his neck, listening to their breathing finally evening, her fingers absentmindedly stroking one of his sideburns, he asks: "Do you like them?"

 

And sometimes she just huffs, and sometimes she answers, "I think they're silly". He lets out a breathy little laugh and promptly retorts: "If you want to, I'll shave"; to which she quickly snaps "don't you dare".

 

At moments like that, she silently curses the one thing her powers can't reach.

 

At moments like that, she wishes she could freeze time.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm terrible with titles. TERRIBLE. But this one is part of the lyrics to "I'm Not That Girl", from Wicked.
> 
> Promise I'll try harder next time. Thank you so much for taking the time to read it!


End file.
